


miss sugar pink, liquor liquor lips

by quinziggle



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Bombshells (Comics), DCU (Comics), Harley Quinn (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Anxiety, Bipolar Disorder, Bipolar Harley, Bisexuality, Botanical Scientist Ivy, Café Owner Harley, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Gotham City Sirens, Hair Dyeing, Harley Quinn Has A Potty Mouth, I love Poison Ivy more than I love myself, Mental Health Issues, Nonbinary Ivy, POC Ivy, Past Abuse, also more trans characters are needed in general, because human gender doesn't apply to her
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-02-24 02:25:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13203780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quinziggle/pseuds/quinziggle
Summary: harlivy café au: harley keeps seeing a literal goddess with mud under her nails and grass-stained knees. ivy is intrigued by the little blonde who keeps running into her and badly flirting. selina is done with everyone's shit and trying to run harley's café pretty much singlehandedly, but it's okay cause she needs the money.





	1. it's always sunny in gotham city

**Author's Note:**

  * For [justchocolatebuttons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/justchocolatebuttons/gifts), [Anxious_Little_Hufflepuff_7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anxious_Little_Hufflepuff_7/gifts), [live_and_let_live](https://archiveofourown.org/users/live_and_let_live/gifts).



The first time Harley met the Beautiful Lady, she was low - practically slumped over the counter and contemplating hiding in the staff bathroom and having a little weepy. She didn't even notice a customer approaching until a slender dark hand tentatively prodded her shoulder, and a deep velvety voice asked, "I know it's nearly closing time, but would you mind filling my watering can?"

At this, Harley rose, her deep rooted innuendo detector rousing her from her thoughts. "Ooh, I'd _love_ to fill your watering can, honey!" She chirped, putting on her best cheeky grin and looking upwards. She was faced with the sight of what could only be described as a living goddess.

The woman standing before her was a good head taller than her, with a caramel complexion, a mass of dark red curls and _kicking_ curves. She was dressed modestly, in a simple green sundress, and hiking boots crusted with dry mud. This outfit would have been perfectly normal, _had it not been the middle of winter and snowing heavily_. A bright yellow handbag, containing various soil stained gardening tools, was slung over her shoulder, and clutched in her left hand was a metal watering can. Finally, after a good minute of silent appreciation (shameless ogling) of the beauty in front of her, Harley finally found her tongue. "S-so... You... You actually meant watering can? Not... Not anything... yknow?"  
The Beautiful Lady quirked one perfect eyebrow at her, holding out the can expectantly. "Please fill this with water for me?"  
"Yeah! Yeah, yup, of course," Harley babbled, holding onto the end of the can not in contact with the customer. "Watering cans! Water! Can do!" Internally wincing at her own inability to talk to pretty girls, she scuttled over to the sink behind her, moving aside a stack of dirty cups she couldn't be fucked to wash up earlier, and turned the cold water on. The water decided to take a millennium to fill the watering can, because apparently the universe hated her, so she was left awkwardly humming a tune while it took its sweet time. When she finally turned round and passed over the can, her hand brushed against the other woman's, and she jumped. The woman merely raised an eyebrow, nodded her thanks, and left the café, apparently unaware of the water slopping out onto the pavement and her feet.

Harley stared after her until she crossed the powder white street, and then came out from the counter and pressed herself against the frosty window to watch her as she walked off down the road, swerving delicately around the drunks and harassed workers that populated the streets of Gotham on Thursday nights, right before night fell. After dark, no one in their right mind went out. At least not alone; not if you didn't want to lose all your money, teeth and dignity.  
She'd heard the stories of the Batman, and his many enemies, and knew what they were capable of. Everyone knew. She wondered why the Beautiful Lady was out so late, and alone. She hoped she would see her again.

After pondering a few possible scenarios of dashing out onto the streets and saving the Beautiful Lady from danger - _perhaps she'd have to fight a lowlife mugger, or kidnapper, and the Beautiful Lady would be so grateful that she'd kiss her passionately and they'd live happily ever after_ -  she sighed and buried her face in her hands. Nothing would ever happen, and she would never see the woman again, so she needed to get a grip. 

With a sad slump in her shoulders, she turned the open sign to read closed, finished mopping the floor and shut down the counter, removing the cash from the till and replacing the serviettes and sugar sachets. Then, she hung up her apron and checked the rota for the morning. Selina and Dick were on the early shift, with Jason and Babs taking over at midday, so there was no need for her to get up until ten, thank fuck for small mercies. After turning all the lights and appliances off, she trudged up the stairs to her tiny apartment, got a cup of water for herself - remembering to water her cactus, Bud, a.k.a the only living thing that she could manage to keep alive - and crawled into bed, setting an alarm just for the sake of feeling better about snoozing it when it actually went off.

* * *

She was jolted awake in the early hours of the morning, sweating and panting, throat raw. Heart still racing, she scrambled out of bed and headed to the bathroom, fumbling with the tap and splashing water onto her face. Hands shaking, she sat on the edge of the toilet lid, trying to breathe nice and deep and even, like Dr. Winters always said. Count the breaths and count five things you could taste, touch, smell and all that crap. Finally, finally, her heart began to slow and her breaths stopped coming in choked gasps.  
She sat still in the darkness just breathing as best as she could, hands wrapped loosely around her svelte frame, nose running and eyes wet.

* * *

In the morning, the sun stole through the blinds and roused her. Her back ached from the foetal sitting position she'd fallen asleep in, and her legs tingled with pins and needles from disuse. When she managed to get to her feet, her eyes were puffy and bloodshot from crying and her pigtails lay greasy and limp against her shoulders.  
After a few minutes of moping - prodding at her skin in the mirror and glaring at her reflection - she shucked off her loose t-shirt and boxers and got into the shower, blasting piping hot water that turned her skin an angry dark pink. She wrestled first with the shampoo bottle top, and secondly with her hair ties, until her hair was thoroughly scrubbed and the majority of the old dye on the ends of her pigtails swirled down the drain in a rush of colour. She was out of conditioner, unfortunately, but that was an excellent excuse to go shopping, so she got out of the shower in a much improved mood, draping her towel over her shoulders and informing the mirror that these were not in fact the droids it was looking for.

After dressing in a soft blue sweater that Selina had lent her a long time ago and had never got back, and the one pair of jeans on her floor that didn't reek, she ventured back to the mirror. Her hair was loose - wavy from the shower, and although tiredness was evident on her face, she didn't look like someone who had been busy having a breakdown not too long ago, so it was fine. She decided to put a little eyeshadow on, just to keep up appearances, and then grabbed all the dirty clothes off the floor and stuffed them into the washing machine, which groaned and gurgled as it was started up. Lastly, she looked for her purse, which took a good half hour or so (it ended up being in the fridge, for some fuckin reason).

Locking up the flat, she headed downstairs to the café, where she was greeted by Selina - coffee in hand and looking every bit as glamorous as a catwalk model. "Morning, sleeping beauty..." The brunette said, wryly. "Tell me about it," Harley shot back. "I'm heading out, will ya be able to mind the café okay or d'ya need me for anything?"  
Selina made a shooing motion in her direction and rolled her eyes. "Off you go, pet, I'm sure we'll be fine, as long as Dick doesn't burn the kitchen down." Grinning, Harley leaned up to kiss her on the cheek. "Thanks, kitty! Won't be long." The taller woman tutted as she waved her off, but there was amusement evident in her dark eyes.

Walking across town, Harley found that a) the sidewalk was a lot more slippery than she'd expected and b) the weather was a lot more blizzard-y than the gentle kind of snow you see on Christmas cards and movies. Still, she trekked out because once you were actually out of the house things were a bit easier moodwise, and she'd managed that part already, so buying things? Talking to people? Not a problem.  
Or at least if she told herself that it'd make it easier to actually walk into a store and attempt to not make a nervous fool of herself.

As if on autopilot, she found herself entering the drugstore and going straight to the haircare aisle. There was some weird new organic conditioner stuff called ' _Isley's Garden of Paradise_ ' which was a bit cheesy as far as names go, but the stuff smelled really good and was half price, so she put two bottles into her shopping basket and headed to the hair dye rack to contemplate the various colours on offer. Of course, there were the usual browns, gingers and blondes, but since she'd asked the nice chemist, Dr Crane, who ran the shop, he'd got in all sorts of bright colours - blues, greens, purples, pinks, reds and silvers. She'd tried to dye her hair a complete rainbow once, but she hadn't been patient enough with separating the colours, so they all bled into each other and became a greenish yellow mulch. Jay had always said that she couldn't dye her hair because it was 'copying him', so now he was out of her life she tried to do as many bright colours as she could, although she still avoided bright green.

She was thinking of doing pink into purple into blue, less obvious than a bold rainbow, but something she'd understand and other bi folks would too - Selina would help her with the colours so that it didn't go wrong this time. Humming happily to herself, she reached for a deep blue, placing it beside the conditioners in her basket. The purples were at her eye level, so she selected a particularly lovely violet, before craning her neck to see the pink dyes. As she was planning on how she would climb up and get the packet down, she heard a soft cough to her left and turned, startled. It was The Beautiful Lady; today dressed in grass stained overalls and a mustard yellow sweater, with -- dear lord -- wide reading glasses perched on her cute freckled nose. "Fucking hell, you're gorgeous..." Harley found herself blurting out without warning. The Beautiful Lady blinked, looking surprised, and Harley felt her face flushing hot with shame. There was a stream of anxious apologies on the tip of her tongue, but the Beautiful Lady seemed to recover quickly from her surprise, as she shrugged, smiling and reached up to grab a packet of hot pink hair dye, placing it in the basket. "Good choice," was all she said, sounding amused as she brushed one elegant finger over the conditioner bottles.

Then, in a cloud of soft floral perfume, she was gone, leaving a dazzled Harley gaping after her like a fool. "Fuck..."


	2. tied up to a dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> harley is oblivious, selina is a treasure, batman shows up. a bit.

The walk home through the snow was not great, to say the least. A shrill wind tailed her all the way from the drugstore to the café, and in places the snow on the sidewalk reached her knees. It was getting dark, and her hands were numb as she struggled with the door. There was a warm glow of life inside, and she counted at least six patrons enjoying late afternoon drinks and cakes under the fairy lights strung up around the shop. When she finally managed to get the door to open (she'd been pushing it even though it was a pull door and she had to go through it nearly every day), she was greeted by Selina, flustered and wiping down the same patch of the counter over and over. Every few seconds she glanced backwards to where Dick was serving a customer at the counter, chatting away happily. 

_Oh, of course _... Selina had a bit of a thing for Dick's adopted father, Mr. Bruce. The man was in his late thirties, tall and athletic, with sleek dark hair and grizzled stubble. He was handsome in a friendly, puppyish sort of way, but the scowl lines on his face indicated that at some point life had dealt him some rough cards. Harley wasn't sure if Bruce was the man's first or surname, but he never corrected her when she called him "Mistah Bruce", so she guessed it was okay either way. He seemed to find her Gotham born-and-bred accent endearing, so she always amped it up when he was around. He came in occasionally to pick up his sons, and when he did, he tipped well and was kind to her staff, so she liked him well enough.__

____

Selina, however, acted like a major celebrity had walked in every time he showed up. She was a mess, trying to act all coy and sensual, but spilling his coffee, or trying to slip her number into his napkin, which he ended up wiping his drink off the table with. Mr. Bruce was always very sweet about her clumsiness, saying it was no bother, but in the name of her friend's dignity, Harley made sure Selina was always on cleaning rather than serving duty in the evenings, when Bruce was most likely to come by. 

After greeting her regular customers, Harley headed straight for the counter, beaming happily. "Hi there, Mistah Bruce! How's it going?" Turning with feigned surprise, Bruce grinned at the sight of her, raising his coffee cup as if to toast her arrival. She wasn't exactly sure what Mr. Bruce did, exactly, but from the freshly pressed suits and sparkling cufflinks, he was probably a lawyer or businessman. You didn't tend to ask in Gotham; how people made their money was their own business. Mr. Bruce didn't look the criminal type, but you never knew, and Harley didn't want to lose one of her best tipping customers by putting her foot in her mouth and finding out. 

Polite as ever, Bruce asked about her day, and told her all about his latest trip to the orphanage. "Honestly, Mistah Bruce, you're worse than Selina an' all her strays!" She'd shot back, smiling teasingly.  
(Upon hearing her name, Selina's head shot up, and she glanced over at her boss accusingly, as if to say 'what are you saying about me now?!') He'd laughed, thankfully not offended by her cheeky comment, and told her in hushed tones all about his latest orphan, Tim. "He's a computer whiz," Bruce said, looking as enthusiastic as she'd ever seen him. "I really hope he'll get along with Jay and Dick - they're going to come and meet him with me next week."  
They chatted for a while longer, before Harley noticed her employees winding down their end of shift duties, and rushed off to pay Barbara - as the newest employee, she was not yet on contract, unlike Bruce's boys. As she was saying her goodbyes to the remaining customers, she spotted Selina and Bruce in discussion by the door, and grinned widely. Hopefully, Selina would finally get the courage to ask him out! 

Humming cheerfully, she double-checked the little kitchen, the tables and the main counter with the espresso machines while she waited for her friend. Surveying her little shop - her pride and joy, that she'd worked so hard to own - she pondered the idea of having little plants on the tabletops, succulents, maybe? She'd read that they were pretty hard to kill, even with her lack of gardening skills, and The Beautiful Lady might like them...  
Interrupted from her thoughts by a hand on her shoulder, she jumped, turning with eyes almost comically wide to see Selina behind her, amused.  
"How did it go?" Harley blurted out, trying her best to look encouraging. The taller woman smirked wryly. "Good news or bad news first?"  
Harley's face fell. "Bad news?"  
"He's married."  
"Oh, Selina, I'm so s--"  
"Good news, I've got his number. Apparently his husband worries he doesn't have enough friends."  
Harley's eyes bulged. "Husband?!"  
_Was this the same Bruce, a.k.a. hetero supreme? Then again, you never knew _, she mused.__ "Yeah, he married that dorky Metropolis reporter guy, like, a year ago." Selina ran a hand through her hair casually. "It was all very hush-hush, apparently. They didn't want the papers getting hold of it."  
_Hang on, hold up _.__  
"The papers? Why would the papers give a shit who some random business guy marries?"  
Now Selina looked shocked, which only really consisted of her left eyebrow twitching very slightly, but they'd been friends long enough for Harley to understand. "The fuck, Harls? He's Bruce Wayne? Of course, they'd care who he marries."  
At Harley's blank face, Selina looked like she was going to have an aneurysm or something. "How do you not know who Bruce Wayne is?!"  
Well, that wasn't fair. She had _some _idea. "Isn't he the guy who used to be a total slut and did all those charity parties and shit like that?"__  
"Well, yeah, if you want to put it like that." Selina rolled her eyes. "Jeez, Harls. You've known the guy for months, and never thought 'oh I've seen that face before'?"  
"It's not like his surname ever came up!"  
"His face is splashed all over the papers, all the time!"  
"You know I only ever buy newspapers to draw moustaches on Barbara's dad when he's in it!"  
Selina laughs, then. It's her happy, relaxed laugh, one Harley hasn't heard for a while.  
"Barbara's dad already has a moustache..." She finally manages to say, once she's finished giggling. "And?!" Harley shoots back, grinning. "My moustaches have character, unlike that horrible strip of fuzz Gordon's got going."  
They continue their friendly back and forth while Selina gets her coat, preparing to head out into the snow. Before she leaves, Harley hugs her tight, and surprisingly enough, Selina, never especially fond of physical affection, lets her. "Be safe, Selly."  
"Don't call me that," Selina retorts, but still pats her friend's cheek gently on her way out. "Call me if you need me." _Or have another episode _, she means. The words lie unspoken between them, but Harley still musters up the energy to smile playfully back at her. "Will do!" They both know it's unlikely she will. As her friend walks out into the blizzard, Harley watches from inside the café until she's out of sight, before heading upstairs to her little apartment.__


	3. electra heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> harley decides it's time for a change. selina is a good friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: sexual themes

Upstairs, Harley kicks off her boots and wrestles herself out of her jeans before sticking everything from the washing machine into the tumble dryer.   
Feeling too tired to cook from scratch, she fumbles through what she refers to as the 'assorted food bits cupboard' until she finds a can of one of Selina's veggie soups and promptly puts it back. Takeout time? _Definitely _.  
__ Phoning the local place is always an experience - Mitchell, the guy who owns the place calls himself the 'Condiment King', and conversations with him always end up returning to whether or not a mustard gun would be effective against muggers. When he answers, she squeals "Mitchy!!" directly into the microphone, before launching into a lengthy description of her day and all about The Beautiful Lady. Surprisingly, Mitchell isn't all that bad when it comes to romantic advice - although most of his ideas of wooing involve various sauces, his idea of inviting The Beautiful Lady over for a romantic meal is fairly solid, as plans go.

Plans aren't really her thing anyway, she prefers to wing it and see what happens. But an opportunity to make gooey eyes at The Beautiful Lady across the table? Harley lets out a dreamy little sigh. That would definitely require a plan. After ordering her usual pizza (Meat Lovers Supreme - with pineapple, _hell yeah_ ), she hangs up, drumming her feet on the floor impatiently. On a whim, she grabs the dye and conditioner from her bag and makes her way into the bathroom, making faces in the mirror as she goes. Her hair's getting to the length where it's just a tad too long to deal with - she prefers it shoulder length or shorter, really, and right now it's almost long enough to cover her chest. Twirling a strand around her finger, she holds it above her top lip like a moustache, snapping a picture with her free hand and sending it to Selina. A few seconds later, her phone buzzes with a snap of Selina looking amused; however, the cat perched on the couch next to her looks extremely disapproving, which is pretty hilarious. Opening her messenger, she quickly types out a text in response _ _.__

 **me:** __do i look like bab's dad yet xox_ _

**kitty🖤💜** _is typing..._

__Not really. U look about 12._ _

**me:** 😭

 **kitty🖤💜** _is typing..._

😽🖤

__me: am gonna dye my hair, wish me luck xoxox_ _

**kitty** 🖤💜 _ _is typing..._ _

__Remember what happened last time u tried on ur own?_ _

**me:** 😅

__am gonna try again xoxo_ _

**kitty** **🖤💜** _is typing..._

__Harley, no._ _

**me** : _ _harley yes xoxox_ _

**kitty🖤💜** __is typing..._ _

__The kisses don't make me approve._ _

**kitty** 🖤💜 _ _: Do what u want tho, lol._ _

me: 😈

With that extremely enthusiastic permission in mind, she ponders her reflection carefully. First things first: pigtails. She ties them lower than normal, so that they fall over her chest, instead of high up to the sides. Opening the medicine cabinet (oops, she'd _totally_ forgotten to take her meds but she'd do it later), she reaches for the big scissors she'd used to cut all her jeans into shorts for the summer, and chops one of her pigtails in half. The bleached strands fall to the tiled floor, and she feels... relaxed? Relieved? Either way, it's like a part of him has gone with the hair, and she attacks the other side with relish. The result is... different. She feels different. Less drained. Her face looks softer, somehow. Out of habit, she takes a picture and sends it to Selina. While she waits for a response, she attempts to tidy up the bathroom, taking big handfuls of hair off the floor and putting it all into the bin, before looking back at the mirror. It's surprisingly neat, for an emotionally charged DIY job. The ends are choppy, but it's all the same length, and the messiness suits her, in a way.

 **kitty** 🖤💜: _ _HARLEY WHAT_ _

**kitty🖤** 💜: _ _YIU LOOK HOT GIRL BUT WTF_ _

**kitty🖤** 💜 _ _is typing..._ _

Ignoring the messages flooding in, Harley examines the pink dye, slipping on the plastic gloves provided. Right. Time to get to work.

Before long, the doorbell rings, and she wonders which of Mitchell's three delivery workers it'll be this time. As soon as she opens the door, the world's most disinterested delivery girl dumps a pizza box into her arms, immediately holding out her hand for the money. "Cassie!!" Harley says, happily forking out the cash and a $10 tip. The delivery girl looks up then, the beginnings of a smile on her stoic face.

Apparently, then she notices Harley's hair. "Diff... Different," she says, slowly. Her voice sounds rough, as if she isn't used to it. "I like... I like the pink." Harley beams at her, and does a little twirl to show it off. "Thanks!" She exclaims. "I'm thinking of putting in some blue and purple, what do you think?"  
Cass studies her for a few moments before nodding vehemently. "Purple... purple layer first. Then blue."  
"You're the best, Cassie," Harley declares, pinching the girl's cheek with her free hand. Cass glares, and pushes her hand off as she walks away, but she looks more amused and less hostile than the first time they'd met. Score, Harley thinks.

The girl reminds her of what she used to be like at eighteen, back when Jay was making her life a living hell on the daily. She feels strangely protective of Cass, the same way one might towards a baby bird, fresh from the nest. "Thassa confusing analogy," she murmurs, arranging the pineapple pieces until her pizza had a big smiley face. Tearing off a slice, she munched contently until there was only half remaining. Pizza for breakfast. _Nice_.

Back in the bathroom, she put the finishing touches on her masterpiece before stripping off to wash the dye out in the shower. The water streaks down the drain tinged with lilac, and she watches in fascination while adjusting the shower head until the spray comes out at just the right pressure. Humming to herself, she squats down and washes herself, before coaxing the water jets over and between her thighs.

The stream is just the right temperature to stoke the heat in her belly, and she exhales shakily before teasing herself further. It's probably bad manners to rub one out thinking about someone you've met twice, a faraway part of her mind pipes up. But people have celebrity fantasies and shit like that, right? It's probably fine. When the hot spray hits her clit just right she grunts contently, and her mind is immediately silenced. The Beautiful Lady - she really had to find out her name - had such pretty hands, and judging by the wiry muscles of her arms she was probably strong enough to pick her up and slam her against something... "Yeah," Harley breathes, closing her eyes tightly. "Yeah, yeah. Fuck." With her free hand, she slips a finger into herself and crooks it ever so slightly, imagining The Beautiful Lady pressing searing hot kisses across her throat like a toxin as she bends her over the counter and buries her face beneath Harley's skirt... It's enough to send her tumbling over the edge, a gasp escaping her lips as she trembles through the aftershock, heart thudding.


	4. sunflower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ivy dodges her mother and wonders how best to approach the cute girl from the café

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: baby boomer typical homophobia/transphobia (deliberate use of a deadname), manipulation and very mild ableist language at one point.

In a large room, made cramped by the dizzying array of vibrant plants perched on almost every flat surface, Pamela Lillian Isley PhD, better known as Ivy, sat alone, typing furiously on a sleek laptop and steadfastly ignoring the vibrating phone in front of her. She knew exactly who it was; fewer people than she had fingers had access to her contact details, even fewer dared to make use of the privilege. She’d happily ignore the call all day, however the obnoxious buzzing was playing havoc with her concentration and she’d rather not turn in a sloppily written dissertation, no matter how small the distraction. Turning the device over from where it lay face down on the desk, she swiped at the answer button the same way one might swat a particularly irritating fly.  

“Mother,” she intoned flatly. “What is it? I’m working.” 

Across the line, Lillian Isley sighed. “You are always working, Pamela, dear.” 

“I’ve asked you not to call me-” 

“Of course, dear,” Lillian cut in, dryly. “However, I named you suitably for your status as a young lady, not as some horrid common weed.” Fuming silently, Ivy tried not to snap at her mother. They’d had this argument far too many times for it to have any merit. “Was there something you needed, or was the purpose of this call just to antagonise me?” 

“Don’t be so dramatic, Pamela,” Ivy’s fists clenched. Her mother continued, sounding as lofty as she did whilst informing her high society friends what a wonderful person she was, what with all her charity work and so forth... “You do neglect me so, never bothering to visit or keep in touch... I was wondering if you had a date for your father and my wedding anniversary celebration?” Taking her daughter’s silence as a ‘no’, she carried on, as if she’d anticipated this all along, and was doing Ivy a huge favour by being  _so_  wonderfully prepared and supportive. “Do you remember my  _dear_  friend Laura?” 

“The one you dropped like a hot coal when she married a ‘commoner’?” Ivy retorted. 

Her mother ignored her and went on. “Her son is doing awfully well for himself now, he’s an attorney, Pamela. District attorney for Gotham, in fact. Isn’t that wonderful, dear?” 

“Good for him.” Pamela deadpanned, sketching a not so flattering image of her mother being eaten by a giant Venus fly trap. Oblivious, her mother was  _still_  talking. “So naturally, I passed along your number. He’ll call you this week, at some point.” 

“WHAT?”

“-of course, he's frightfully busy, I’m sure, but he seemed very excited to meet you...”

“You gave some stranger my number?!”

“But of course, how else are you going to find yourself a boyfriend? You don’t socialise at all, dearest.”

“Boyfriend?! Mother, I-”

“Partner, then. I suppose ‘boyfriend’ is a little juvenile...”

“Mother, how many times do I have to tell you that I like women?! Just women, ONLY women!”

The silence from her mother’s end of the line crackled with tension. Ivy swallowed nervously. “Mother, I didn’t mean to yell, I-” 

“Pamela.” Her mother’s voice was cold and artificially calm. “I don’t want to have to bring up this childish nonsense again. Your father and I let you get away with this foolishness when you started university, but you’re a grown woman now. It’s all very well for a young lady to be educated, but you already have two PhDs, dearest. What is this current one even in? Some pseudoscientific nonsense, I expect.” 

“Botanical engineering is  _not_  a pseudoscience,” she muttered.

“As soon as you’ve finished this one, I expect you either to come home and be useful or find a man who’ll support you, for goodness’ sake. Am I quite understood?”

Ivy bit down her anger, knowing from experience that it would be of no use. “Yes, mother,” She said. “Goodnight, mother.” She hung up quickly, before Lillian could get in any other condescensions. 

Cradling her face in her hands, she groaned loudly in annoyance. Patience for her thesis destroyed by her mother’s interference, Ivy looked around the room for a distraction, gaze landing on the sky blue of the potted cornflowers on her windowsill. The colour reminded her of the little blonde from the coffee shop... Her eyes were the same soft hue, except potentially prettier than the cornflowers.  _Huh_. Prettier than flowers? She was officially losing her touch as a ‘plant freak’ - a particularly cruel nickname from childhood, to her much worse than the racial slurs of old and the snide jokes about her body when puberty hit her like a traffic collision at thirteen. She'd confided in a playmate her mother had deemed suitable for her that she preferred the company of plants to most people, and the girl had told the entire 8 th grade that Pammy Isley was a dirty plant fucker. A  _freak_. 

Although she’d pleaded, Lillian had refused to let her switch schools, insisting that doing so would make the other mothers ‘talk’. She was already embarrassed enough by her daughter’s thick tangle of curls and the ‘unseemly’ freckles splayed across her nose and cheeks, although she was happy to soak up the praise any time someone commended her on her ‘brave choice’ in adoption, especially of a child, who was so  _d_ _ifferent_  to the Isleys. 

Black, they meant. 

She’d only known one other black person before college, and that had been Mrs. Spear, their housekeeper. She used to braid Ivy’s hair when she was younger, and tell her stories about magical faraway places, dragons and mermaids, princesses and princes. As far as she knew, the old woman still worked at the estate, but she hadn’t seen her in years, partly due to her studies, but mostly because going home to Seattle meant dealing with her mother in person. Over the phone was bad enough, thank you very much.

The girl from the coffee shop was probably able to stand up to  _her_  mother. Hell, her tattoos alone would probably make  _Ivy’s_  mother drop dead from the impropriety of it all. Grinning, Ivy pictures the five-foot-nothing barista prodding her mother square in the centre of her Versace blouse. She had the accent and brash tone of a Gotham native, and the chipped black of her fingernail polish was surprisingly endearing, she remembers. She smiles to herself, ducking her head and fiddling with the pencil in her hands. Maybe she should pop into the café and talk to her sometime? That wouldn’t be weird would it?  _Get_ _a hold_ _of yourself, Isley._ Christ _, s_ _he’s_ _just a girl_ ,she thinks, getting up to water her zebra plant. Its leaves seem to gaze reproachfully at her as she tends to her succulents. ‘She’s a  _very_  pretty girl...’ The zebra plant seemed to say.  _Fuck it._  If she was crazy enough to imagine that her plants were trying to have a chat, she was crazy enough to go and see the girl in the café tomorrow. 


	5. fill your heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they're so so dumb? so gay and so stupid.

Ivy woke with the sun. She always had, for as long as she remembered. 

There was something refreshing about the morning light, and she had always liked the way the beams danced with the branches of the trees outside, leaving dappled little shapes along the walls.  
The thing she missed most about Seattle was the rain, constantly feeding and replenishing the green plant life sprinkled throughout the city. Gotham was the polar opposite; the entire city was a shambling brickwork labyrinth that even the city’s natives couldn't always navigate. At the heart of the city there was a large park, however the grass overgrown and wilted. The swamp-like pond in the middle was stuffed with assorted cans, plastic bags and bullet shells choking any chances of wildlife. Still, cracks in the great grey sidewalk slabs sported tiny green shoots, as against all odds, mother nature triumphed over man. 

She tried to make up for the lack of vegetation outside by filling her apartment with as many plants as she could spare from the lab, something that made her extremely grateful for her more than modest Wayne Enterprises salary. Although the glass and chrome suite wasn’t to her personal taste, the abundance of natural light helped her babies grown big and strong, there was plenty of space to think and the neighbours were quiet and kept to themselves. 

Stretching languidly, Ivy eyed the cork noticeboard pinned to the wall adjacent to her bed. Her schedule was clear until 5pm, when she was needed to start work at the laboratory. Don’t forget to congratulate Dr. Holland on successfully impregnating his wife, the acid green sticky note reminded her. She’d really rather not talk to her colleagues about anything outside of work, but Holland was the most tolerable of her male co-workers and he’d congratulated her for getting that last big promotion, unlike Woodrue, who still held a grudge. The fact that Woodrue even thought he was in the running to be promoted was laughable, and she’d told him so. 

She got up to open the blinds on the skylight and then switched the little wooden radio (a housewarming gift from her father) to the classical station before starting her watering rounds. Her plants were managing especially well in the slight chill winter brought to the apartment, and she was delighted to see the tendrils of her jasmine plant steadily crawling along the bookshelf, growing day by day. Again, the cornflowers caught her eye. I wonder if the girl from the café would like them... She gently tucked the little flowerpot into her bag before putting the kettle on for her morning tea. The radio presenter chattered idly in the background, and she yawned, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. 

She took her time showering, singing under her breath as she lathered up her arms and legs. She noticed that the mason jar with her face scrub in was nearly empty, making a mental note to prepare another batch tomorrow. Running a comb through her hair proved a challenge she wasn’t ready to face, so she stuck all it into one thick braid, ignoring the stubborn curls that refused to stay in one place. After drying off, she rooted through her drawers for her lucky sunflower print panties, slipped on jeans and a bra, and stood amid the carnage of her ransacked wardrobe, wondering what kind of shirt would give the impression of being completely in control of her life but also alluring to cute girls. 

Eventually, she decided on the grey Gotham University top she'd been given when she’d first joined the PhD program, because there’s nothing quite as classy as a free t-shirt. As she laced up her least muddy boots she paused, thinking, and quickly dashed back for her handbag and the lipstick she wore only on special occasions, applying it much more carefully than she would have usually. Taking a deep breath, she walked out into the hall, setting off towards the café. 

\- 

Apparently, Harlequin’s was much, much busier on a Saturday morning than a Thursday evening. It was only a little after nine, but there was already a sea of heads around the counter and more seated in and outside the shop. Ivy paused, trying to catch sight of the white blonde hair that had stuck out last time. Perhaps the girl wasn’t working today? A couple shoved past her into the doorway, the older man’s umbrella jabbing her in the side as he passed. If she were with her mother, Lillian would have gone ‘Excuse me?!’ in the shrill, indignant tone that only white women of a certain age can pull off, and demanded an apology, or possibly even to speak to the manager. 

The thought put a smile on her face. 

When she walked in, she noticed with delight that someone had put little potted cyclamen and succulents on each of the tables. She brushed her thumb along a stamen thoughtfully, studying the yellow dusting of pollen on her fingernail. “Welcome ta Harlequin’s! Can I take an order?” A cheery voice from somewhere near her elbow broke her concentration, and she turned. “Oh! Shit, it’s you.” 

“It’s me,” She replied, her heart thudding. It was the girl. 

No wonder she hadn’t seen anyone with peroxide blonde pigtails! Today, the girl’s hair was cropped to mid shoulder length and shocking pink, bleeding into a magenta purple and then into a royal blue. Her eyeshadow was vibrant gold, and her wide, surprised eyes were lined with inky black. She wore dark lipstick, and her smile showed off the adorable little gap between her front teeth. 

Oh dear. She was gorgeous. 

Ivy’s brain seemed to be short-circuiting. 

“Your hair’s changed,” was all she could think to say, and it came out more forcefully than she meant it to. The girl’s smile faded, and she looked uncertain. “D’ya not like it then?” She said. 

“No!” Ivy said, a bit too loudly. Several customers turned in their direction and she lowered her voice, embarrassed. “No, I love it.” 

She was rewarded with a shy little grin that she mentally filed away as Very Important. 

“So what can I-” 

“I brought you-” 

The girl blushed prettily. “You go first.” 

Ivy wasn’t quite sure how to process. God, she was so goddamn cute. 

“I brought you this.” 

Taking the little clay pot from her bag, she offered it to the girl, suddenly feeling shy. She prided herself on her unflappable nature; normally it took a lot more than a pretty face to fluster her, and she'd seen and been with women much more conventionally appealing than this one. Still, against all rationality, she felt the warm fluttering of anxiety in the pit of her stomach. 

Externally, she tried to remain impartial, noticing how the girl's eyes lit up and her hands shook slightly as she took the plant, as if she'd never received a gift before. 

“For me?” Her smile was like the summer sun, and in her warmth Ivy felt the heart blossoming in her own chest. She offered a shrug in response. “I grow lots of plants. This one happened to remind me of your eyes.” 

“Y-you... What?” 

“I'm sorry if that was inappropriate. I’ve been hoping to get your name.” Ivy paused. “And maybe your number, too?” 

The girl continued to look up at her, speechless. From somewhere behind her, a dark-haired woman pushed past her, scowling. “For fucks sake,” she said, earning a dirty look from an elderly woman. “Hi Harley’s beautiful stranger, I’m Selina. This is Harley.” Harley continued to look slightly starstruck, blushing to the roots of her bright hair. “Harley can’t talk to girls and is a general mess.” Selina continued, jabbing her friend in the ribs with her shiny acrylic nails. “Thass not true!” Harley said finally, cheeks still a deep crimson. “I was jus’ surprised. You’re really pretty.” She added, conversationally. “Lemme get us a free table and then we can talk properly?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *selina kyle with a megaphone voice*: just KISS you stupid fucks

**Author's Note:**

> yes this is what i am doing instead of posting more chapters of my one fic that people actually read. please be nice to me i tried.


End file.
